Full Metal Rehash!
by Ashlena
Summary: The first season of FMP! retold... straight from the eyes and mind of Sousuke Sagara.  What all goes through his head as the events play out? Is he really so dense, or is it something else?  How does he really feel about normal life and the girl he loves?


_**From the Writer: **__Hello peoples! I guess I should introduce myself, yeah? ^_^ I'm Ashlena, but everyone and you can call or know me as Ash. I've been a long fan of anime since I was 11, and FMP! Just so happens to be my fave! I've got to watch all the way through TSR at least twice now, and I absolutely love it. Only lately have I found out that there are novels too! But with school and band practice having started back... I don't know if I'll have much time to read them. At least not as quickly as I'd like. ;_; So if my story here seems to be missing out on something that may have been revealed in those, sorry about that. _

_As for this story. Hm! This is actually my first fanfiction ever! ... So please be gentle, I'm sure I'll be messing up some stuff. ^_^; I didn't really plan on doing this until about a week ago when I found out that my cousin used to write FMP fanfiction here too! Have to give credit to him for introducing me to the place and some of the writers and such. And for basically teaching me everything I know about writing (just hope you veterns don't think I'm copying his style too much, cause I really don't mean to!) ... and the idea for this story. But just the general idea! The rest of it's mine! ... except for the entire world of FMP... and the characters... and the story... and... _;_

_Now, about this story... well, it's going to be sort of like a rehashing of the first season of FMP, starting from the very beginning. Written solely from Sousuke's perspective, maybe a "little" bit (seriously, not much!) different of a Sousuke (at least on the inside) than we may expect, with more focus on his inner thoughts and reactions to all of this, feelings, and possibly some completely different pieces that we can say likely happened in the background. I think it'll be fun, and I hope you enjoy! PLEASE leave me some feedback, let me know what you think! Let me know if there's anything I can fix or do better, something you'd personally like to see, more or less of, or... you know! Anything of the like! ^_^_

**Chapter 1: Behind Green Eyes (**_Aka: Full Metal PREQUEL!) _

The snowplains drift by, miles and miles of them. Some of the very early morning farmers zipped by, crouched on their haunches and staring toward the sudden rippling in the air. They know they saw _something_, but they don't know what. Thank God for ECS... it works invisibility like a charm.

Where are we again? Lots of snow, scattered trees, farmland, middle of nowhere, and a lone research/military facility several miles due southwest. The name was mentioned, but having just been dragged out of bed with an emergency split-decision mission, I can't quite be expected to remember _every _detail, right? I'll leave that to McAllen and Mao, they're both sharp as tacks anyway. Not to mention our SRT commanders. I don't want to do _too_ much on my end, or else I'm liable to be stuck in a position of power as well. And I most certainly don't want that. I'm more than happy with my position of relatively minimal responsibility and accountability right now. As things are, I can afford the expectations of someone who just woke up and was issued a mission immediately. Mission details were vague... exactly WHO is this girl we're trying to secure the extraction of? The entire SRT is here so this must be very important indeed. Ugh... everything delivered and initated so fast... hard to keep track of.

Sagara Sousuke: presence of mind for the moment on auto-pilot.

That is, until the radar bleeps for my attention. Armament discharge detected, she tells me. And since she doesn't demand my attention very often, I know damn well to pay attention when she does. Eyes wander to the placement grid and calculations are made in a split second... which is all the time we have. The small light breaks through the distance. An explosion, confirmed by the small flames licking at the darkness.

They were right. Hinder team did need our help. And all I can do is wish in vain that they had brought us along in the first place. You pay a mercanery service in advance, that's what you do: use the service you paid for and don't try to tackle it yourself. Now, the entire Hinder team AND the target could be dead by the time we get there.

Target interception point is 11.2 miles due southwest, but I'm already gearing my AS for 3.7 miles southeast toward that explosion. Unexpected explosions mean unexpected change of plans, and I don't have to be told what to do. But just for confirmation, McAllen gives the order and the intercom crackles to life.

"Look alive, chicks and dudes!" Good old McAllen, always trying to be "hip" as if he were 30 years younger. At least it eases tension a little when it counts, and I think that's his objective. "For those of you still half asleep, that was an explosion. Forget the interception point... 'cause I don't think they made it," a little bit of sorrow in his voice. McAllen always mourns the potential loss of life. And even if casualties are unconfirmed, he's never been wrong when he calls it. I bite my lip as well, because it always seems that no matter how hard I try to prevent deaths from happening, no matter the haste... it never makes a difference.

Silent static fills the air as McAllen quickly mulls over the new coordinates and adjustments, considers the numbers and possible dangers and how thin to stretch our squad. The full potential risk of danger. He's a good leader.

"Urzu 2, break your team off toward that explosion. Urzu 3, keep your team back with mine and await further commands. Urzu 9, keep your team en route to the interception point. Urzu 11, set up communications once you get there. Urzu 7, since you're closest keep straight ahead and engage any e-" A pause, he must have noticed I was already on it. "As you are, Urzu 7. Assess the situation and secure the target if need be."

Not really much else to say then. Free license to do things my way, basically. It's a type of trust earned through years of showing that you can be counted on. Trust that a fellow warrior doesn't take lightly.

"Roger."

***

Approximately 3.9 miles out. One Heine, one transport truck in ruins, one extremely terrified girl kneeling in the snow while twin-mounted gatling guns plow trenches in the snow on each side of her, gradually getting closer. Several more enemy units moving in this direction... Mao and Kurz less than a kilometer behind me. I have a timeframe of _seconds _to assess the situation and draw a course of action.

... We can safely call this situation _assessed_. Now, the best course of action...

A shift of my hand and a press of the secondary weapon detach button releases, letting the AT dagger fall into the hand of my M9. My eye twitches... watching the scared girl cowering in the snow as the bullets jet around her almost in pattern. Bastards... cold, heartless bastards. And I realize that I don't need to know the details or what's going on around here. ... I've already seen enough.

... And decide that the best course of action would be to take the helicopter out and dispose of it in such a way that pilot's "friends" will give major pause and think twice before engaging. That'll give Mao and Kurz long enough to come in and clean house while I secure the girl. And we're all out before the sun rises.

The dagger glistens through the air, its path true. A direct hit to the side of the helicopter and down it goes, not clear of the target but I had accounted for that. Click off ECS. The element of surprise is up and though it leaves me in the open... invisiblity saps a lot of power. Power that I'll need to make my statement here.

The M9 lurches in its steps, each stride taken seemingly in purpose, the fire of the falling helicopter glinting off its surface in fiery shades. Hands go out and the hydraulic stabilizers do their thing as metallic hands latch onto the aircraft. A shift here... and adjustment here... output sync made here and there it goes. The M9 proves its worth as a 3rd generation AS and throws the aircraft a good 100 yards out. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I take perhaps an unhealthy amount of satisfaction in seeing it crumble against the ground and snow like a propellered tin-can.

That darker, violence driven side of me almost grins at the fact that no one could have survived the explosion that followed. But I won't lament in it nor give it much attention at all. The De Danann's doctor is writing a book about the troubled youth of today that he intends to strike it rich with, and I certainly don't want to become a chapter in it.

Instead, the M9 turns back around and I see the scared red-haired girl again. The monitor gives me a zoom-in so I can confirm better, make sure there aren't any ground troops moving in. Her eyes are looking directly into the external camera/sensor, causing her green eyes to look directly into mine... haunting. The fright is still there, but moreso there is a definite look of familiarity, of recognition. A look of shocked relief as if she can't believe she's still alive. Infinite gratitude that I've seen too many a time in the face of the desolate to ever forget or mistake as anything but. The recogniton is what I find strange, almost as if she just saw a familar face.

She doesn't recognize you, Sagara. She may recognize the AS. But even that's strange. We'll let "shock" label this one. Now get her out of the snow... poor girl's probably freezing.

The M9 kneels and I jump down, the snow crunching under my boots, med kit in hand as I head her way. I don't have much time. Soon the enemy r-

And then Kurz' voice booms loudly and abrasively through the night along with an explosion, saying something about knights and princesses and rescue and whatever. I tone it out as I often find myself doing, the only thing of importance registering from the blonde being the fact that he so casually dropped the name of our organization to any and all ears that may be lurking around. Reckless.

"Idiot..." Mao's voice rings through... my unspoken sentiments similar to hers as is often the case. "Hurry up Sousuke, we have incoming!"

"Pick up in 15 seconds!"

I must be feeling pity again, to grant even that much time. I'll _say _that targets and missions and civilian safety and such are more important than the lives of comrades, but that's only because that's what the top brass wants to hear. Diverts their eyes from me to someone who thinks like I do but _says _different. So what's different this time?

I approach and her green eyes look me over. Judge me. She looks even more pitiful this close, wearing what seems to be nothing more than a thin shirt, bare legs and feet and arms left to the cold and snow. These are frostbite conditions, but I think that's the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.

"W-what are you going to do with... me?" As would be expected, the fear is heavy in her voice. Yet it's like she knows that I'm not here to harm her. Or as far as she knows, MAYBE not as badly as the other guys, and that may be the only thing that really matters to her. The reason she doesn't flee.

"Take you back with us." Short, to the point. I can't promise her safety or return home, because I don't know. And I don't make it a habit of promising things I can't make sure of. But telling her what she needs to know to be comforted for now? I can do that. I push the sedative to her neck, it'll make it easier to get her out of here plus help stop excessive shock from setting in if it's not too late already. She offers no resistance, so hopefully that means she feels reasonably comfortable enough to trust us. And I hope she's not a lost cause.

The sedative kicks as soon as it's administered, making her slouch against me and drop something. A disk... I take note to grab it, Lieutenant Kalinin may be interested in this if she's been carrying it. I grab and support her first, waiting for the sedative to kick in fully.

"Your name. What... is it? Please tell me..."

She slumps further into my arms, the chemical doing it's job as intended. Her voice is faint and weak, but my ears somehow still pick it up over the gunfire. She's going fast. My name? I don't make it a habit of dropping my name to people, but for some reason now? ... I feel compelled to tell her at least that much.

"... Sagara. Sousuke Sagara..."


End file.
